


Unspoken

by finnat131



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: M/M, Piano, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 04:36:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14825370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnat131/pseuds/finnat131





	Unspoken

He plays at the piano, and I sit on the floor at his back, facing away, toward the open air of the afternoon beyond the drop. There’s no one around for a long way in any way. 

In front of me the sun sets and night rises. Behind me Chopin departs and Ravel soothes me of his absence. 

So many stars remind me that there are worse things than apocalypse. Without streetlamps, they shine again, the stars. What else could have set them free? What else could have set us free? I’d be in school now if it weren’t for the end of the future. I wouldn’t have met Chopin or Ravel. I wouldn’t have met myself. How many hours of the day are my own? Did they know this bliss before the apocalypse? They had so many engagements: school, work, homework, parents – I have none of those now. The simple fatality of modernity. Gone now. It’s just me and him and empty streetlamps because Ravel is gone too. 

I turn to see him, hands on knees on piano bench, looking up at the evening. 

Are there better things than apocalypse? Sweet like chloroform. The impetus to grow higher, stronger, better, has abandoned the species. If only it had done so sooner. A peace fills the air. Perhaps this is what Europe felt after the fall of Rome. Dark Ages. Dark only to the twenty-first century. Perhaps if they had but turned their streetlamps off on occasion. 

I take his hand, the left one, and search the length of each finger, thumb first, for dead princesses. He plays better than I. To hear him play you’d believe he’d been to their funerals. Little finger last. I kiss the knuckle when I get to it. 

“Shinji.”

“Please. Let me.” I meet his gaze in supplication. 

His right hand finds the space behind my jaw. Below my ear. I know where you’re hiding, he’s saying. Slowly, knuckle pulls on bone until he’s at my chin. Pulling me forward. I’ve forgotten his left. A kiss at the diamond of my face, the bone beneath my eye. A moment lingered, the suction of unparted lips. For the modicum of a second, we’re in the same place – my cheek, his lips. No streetlamps. He let’s go, gently, and the space between our bodies becomes impenetrable. He smiles at me. No, he’s saying. 

I turn back toward the evening sky, my side at his leg, my head on his knee, and his hand turns the hair above my ear. The battle not the war, he’s saying. But that’s imperial, and we’re medieval. What did they say? What should we? 

I let his hand whisper things unspoken to my ear and watch the world turn as another day passes out of the empty future. In the red earth beyond, nothing becomes nothing.


End file.
